SkyeWard's First Christmas
by CreativeReading
Summary: Skye and Ward celebrate their first Christmas as married couple. Angst and then fluff. Trigger warning- References to past childhood abuse and neglect. Rated T because of the trigger warning.
1. Chapter 1

This story is an early Christmas present for one of my absolutely wonderful tumblr followers, skyeward-otp. I adore her blog and she is always filled with such joy. Merry Christmas!

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><p>Ch. 1<p>

**Expectations**

For Skye, Christmas meant disappointment.

Being bounced around to different foster families and group homes meant that no one really knew her when Christmas rolled around. She was the kid that just showed up a few months earlier, her belongings stuffed into a plastic bag, wearing clothes that never quite fit her right. Some of the families made an effort, making sure that she got at least something under the tree. It was usually a baby doll or a Barbie doll, especially in the houses were they only had boys. The foster parents never really knew what to get her and assumed that a girl would just love something that came in a pink box.

Her name would invariably be misspelled as "Sky" on the gift tag, something she never pointed out, covering her crestfallen feelings with a bland smile. She was told, time and time again, that she should be grateful that she got anything at all. And she tried; she really tried to be grateful. She knew other kids who never got anything at all at Christmas time and even if it was the exact same doll she had gotten the last four years in a row, she would try to remember that it could be much, much worse.

But she saw the picture perfect families on T.V. and her heart would ache a bit. She saw them, sitting around a roaring fire, all wearing matching cozy sweaters. She heard them singing carols around an upright piano. She could practically taste the hot cocoa and frosted sugar cookies as she gazed at the screen, her heart full of longing.

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For Grant, Christmas meant a façade.

The entire month of December, he was on pins and needles, just waiting for the first outburst, for the first blow to land. Everything had to be perfect for his mother; they had to project just the right image to the people around them.

Once or twice, when he was four or five years old and didn't know any better, Grant would proudly come up to his mother and show her a Christmas craft he had made for her, still dripping in glue and glitter and she would fly into a rage, berating him for causing a mess, humiliating him for daring to object.

He learned to never make a mess. He learned to never make a fuss. He learned to look down and not make eye contact, to hope that Christian would get the brunt of her fury instead of him at the holidays.

It culminated in the family photo, taken every year by an outrageously overpriced professional photographer who came to their home. The house was always decorated for the holidays by an interior designer, everything matching, nothing out-of-place. Grant learned to listen intently to the photographer and make sure that he obeyed his every command. He knew the penalty for disobeying, knew that he wouldn't be able to sit for a week, that he'd have to wear long sleeve shirts and button up his collar to hide the bruises.

In the end, his mother would get what she wanted, the perfect holiday picture of the perfect family, all beaming and happy, the lie of it skittering under the surface.

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Skye and Grant both approached their first Christmas together as a married couple with trepidation. Skye wanted to get everything "right". In those twenty-five days of December, she wanted to recapture all of the moments she had felt robbed of in her childhood. She flew around the little two bedroom house they were renting, almost manic in her desire to do all the things she'd longed for all those years. She insisted that they go and cut down a Christmas tree, decorate it, and put up lights around the outside of the house all in the same weekend, leaving Grant drained and exhausted, but he hid it so as not to bring her down.

She bought every single holiday ingredient imaginable. She baked dozens of cookies everyday and even attempted to make a homemade pie (which ended in utter failure and her sitting on the kitchen floor, weeping). She made hot cocoa with peppermint, topped with whipped cream and apple cider with mulling spices. In the days leading up to Christmas, she cooked a turkey and a ham and a prime rib and in the end, Grant had let out a few notches in his belt to accommodate his expanding belly.

And Grant indulged her every whim, although her frenzied attempts to recreate an ideal Christmas set his teeth on edge. It forcibly reminded him of his mother, and although he knew that there was no one more different from his mother than Skye, her insistence that everything be perfect for the holidays. made his skin crawl and brought back sickening memories of his childhood.

But he put his foot down when it came to Christmas Eve.

"No, Skye. I'm not going. I've put up with everything else. Every single request. But I just can't," he said, scratching the back of his neck, looking down at her. She had wanted to go to Christmas Eve service at a local church and he cringed at the thought. He remembered going as a child, sitting ramrod straight on a hard wooden pew, barely daring to breathe. His mother was always praised at how well-behaved her kids were, but Grant wondered if they knew the price her children paid for that praise.

"But Grant, it's my favorite part," Skye pled, her eyes filling with tears. It was the only part of Christmas that she did remember fondly as a child, because it was one of the few things that provided her with stability and continuity. Every Christmas was the same in that regard, no matter where she was, no matter who she was living with at the time. She knew the songs and the Christmas story and for a small moment in her life, she felt like she belonged, that she was wanted, that she was loved. She couldn't imagine Christmas without it.

Grant tensed at the thought of going through some meaningless ritual, but as he looked into Skye's eyes, he knew it held meaning for her. He gritted his teeth and gave her a short nod, worried that he'd regret his decision later on that night.

He didn't.

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><p><strong>Author's Notes-<strong>

**A.** I'll be the first one to admit that this ship is in a bit of turmoil right now on the show. So, you can take this story one of two ways.

1) It's been several years since the events of Seasons 1 and 2 and Grant has been through sufficient prison time, therapy, and soul-searching, etc. so that he can enter into a somewhat healthy relationship and marriage.

2) Universe Alteration- The events of Seasons 1 and 2 occurred without Grant's ties to Hydra or Garrett.

One of the fun things about fan fiction is the ability to zig where the original authors/creators zagged.

**B.** Ch. 2 is coming soon! Fluff is on its way; I promise!


	2. Chapter 2

**Ch. 2**

**Hope**

The first thing Grant noticed was the way Skye was dressed for the mid-afternoon service. When he had gone to Christmas service as a child, all the males in the family wore full suits and ties. He even remembered his baby brother, not even a year old, wearing a stuffy child's version of a suit to the Christmas eve service. His mother would wear a red satin dress with hose and pumps, always in the latest fashion, her hair in an elaborate up-do, her make-up flawless and ready for the inevitable photographs that would be taken of the adoring family.

Skye, on the other hand, was wearing a soft red sweater paired with simple black slacks and flats. She wore her hair long and loose; her make-up seemed to consist of lipgloss and a swipe of mascara.

"So, it's not really formal?" Grant asked, hesitantly. She had gone to the church a few other Sundays for some of the advent services and had a better feel of the way people dressed there.

She shrugged. "No, not really. You could get away with jeans and a sweater."

Grant narrowed his eyes at that. If he ever wore jeans to church with his mother, she would have . . . the truth was he couldn't even think that way without shuddering. "Alright."

He went to their bedroom and got dressed, a pair of navy slacks and a white button-down dress shirt. He felt on edge, certain that what he wasn't wearing the right thing. As he emerged from their room, Skye smiled at him.

"You look great. As always," she observed.

His hand went to his collar. It felt odd not to be wearing a tie for a church service. "Are you sure this is okay?"

"Absolutely," she assured him. "Come on. We should go. It's an early service. It starts at three."

Grant nodded, grabbing a light jacket. When they relocated to Southern California, he wasn't quite used to the warm winters, but he had to admit, it did make life a bit easier. That day, the high had been in the low sixties, a far cry from the snowed-in holidays he'd been used to.

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As Grant drove to the church, Skye kept looking nervously over at him. She felt a bit guilty. He hadn't opened up much about his childhood, but she could guess that the holidays hadn't exactly been the best at his home growing up. She had hoped that they'd be able to create their own Christmas memories, but he'd been on edge and curt the entire month. He had gone along (grudgingly) with everything she wanted to do, but his consistently sour attitude sucked the joy out of the festivities for her. She tried everything she could think of to jolt him out of his grumpy mood and every attempt seemed to fail miserably.

She approached him a time or two, trying to get him to share what was bothering him, but he brushed her off, saying that he was "fine". She hoped that the church service would turn things around for him. She started going a few weeks back and the friendly people she'd met had put her at ease.

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Grant had to admit, the service was nothing like he attended growing up. It was a smaller church, less than two hundred in attendance, including kids. Skye had been right; there were a good number of people wearing jeans and sweaters. He even saw a few wearing shorts in the warm weather which made him chuckle.

The people were friendly, maybe a bit overly so. He was hugged more during the first few minutes that he was there than at his own wedding. Most of the people who approached him were delighted to meet him and went on and on about how lucky he was to have such a sweet wife. And, as he looked over at her, chatting with another parishioner, he had to agree with them.

After the greeting time ended, a small worship band started to play. Grant stood next to Skye as the songs began, mumbling his way through the lyrics as Skye sang enthusiastically next to him. It felt a bit odd to hear the traditional carols backed by an electric guitar, but he had to admit that the band wasn't half bad.

"Oh, this one's my favorite," Skye whispered, turning to him and giving him a joyful smile as the first strains of "O Holy Night" began.

When he looked at her and saw how transfixed she was, he felt his heart break a little. When had he stopped associating Christmas with joy? When had it turned into a chore, a ritual to be suffered through?

As he listened to Skye sing the first verse, he felt himself begin to smile.

"_A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices, _

_For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn."_

Hope. Hope for the future. Hope that despite the tangled mess of their pasts they could somehow make a life together. Even start a family together. Hope that the brokenness that had haunted him for so long would be somehow be made whole. Grant slipped his hand in Skye's and began to sing with her, softly at first, and then louder and louder as the verses went on.

"_Truly He taught us to love one another;_

_His law is love and His Gospel is peace."_

Skye squeezed his hand and beamed over at him. After a few more songs, the pastor took the stage, a warm smile on his face. "It's great to see everyone here this lovely afternoon. Christmas has to be my favorite time of year. Of course, it doesn't quite feel like Christmas when you can still have a picnic on the beach."

The congregation chuckled.

The pastor beamed at the crowd. "For me, the message of Christmas is the hope of reconciliation. Humanity and God were separated by this horrible gulf. And no matter what we did as humans, we kept moving farther and farther away from Him. We kept hurting one another. We kept causing pain and strife. There seemed to be no way to bridge the gap between who we were and who God called us to be."

"And then, hope arrived. In the form of a tiny baby, born in meager circumstances, in a small town. And that hope grew and blossomed."

"And ultimately, He provided us with a way back home."

The pastor took a deep breath. "I know that the idea of home is loaded term for some of us. Not everyone grows up in an idyllic 'Leave it to Beaver' household. But, the home that our true Father has prepared for us is warm and loving and full of all the kindness that we crave."

"Through Christ's sacrifice, all of the past is washed away. And that's exciting, but also a bit intimidating. We stand on the edge of a new life, of new possibilities. And sometimes, even though it's destructive and brings us nothing but pain and anguish, we cling to our old lives, to our old ways. But we don't have to. We can create new memories. We can live lives that reflect the grace and mercy that has been given to us. We can be reconciled to God and to one another. And no matter what's under your Christmas tree this season, there's no better gift than that."

_All of the past is washed away. _The words kept ringing in Grant's ears. What would that feel like? To be able to truly have a clean slate? To be able to start again?

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Skye looked over at Grant once the service had ended, biting her lower lip in trepidation. She took a deep breath. "So, did you like it?"

Grant nodded, squeezing her hand tightly. "I did," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Thanks for having us come."

"Ready to head back home? Maybe listen to some carols, sip a little hot cocoa?" she asked.

He smiled, realizing how blessed he was for the second chances he'd been given. "You bet."

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After Grant had finished his second cup of hot cocoa, there was a firm knock on their front door. In keeping with his training, he warily looked through the peephole and saw a delivery driver clad in brown.

"Who is it?" he asked through the door

"Special delivery," the petite woman said pleasantly.

Grant opened the door slowly and the driver smiled up at him. "You're lucky. The last delivery of the day. Right in time for Christmas. Please sign here," she said as she handed over an electronic tablet and stylus, pointing to the signature line.

Grant signed and then gave the delivery driver a small nod and bland smile as he looked down at the medium-sized package. His fingers began to shake slightly as he read the return address.

_T. Ward_

_1458 Main Street_

_Cambridge, Maryland_

_21613_

It was from his little brother, Tommy.

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><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>- The lyrics to "**O Holy Night"** are in the **public domain**, which is why I quoted them here.

Ch. 3 is coming soon!

Merry Christmas!


	3. Chapter 3

**Ch. 3**

**Reconciliation**

Grant hadn't bothered trying to invite Tommy to his wedding. He knew he wouldn't come and Grant couldn't handle the rejection once again. He hadn't shown up to Grant's graduation from the S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy and they hadn't spoken in years.

Grant sat down heavily on the couch and opened the package carefully, almost gingerly. First, he lifted out a red and white striped circular tin. He opened it up and smiled when he saw what was inside. Nestled on wax paper were squares of homemade fudge. His grandmother made them fudge every Christmas and he remembered eating so much his stomach would ache. His mouth began to water as the chocolate smell wafted from the candy.

He put the lid back on and set it to the side. He looked into the package as saw a photo Christmas card and a handwritten letter. He smiled as he looked down at the Christmas photo card, a candid shot of his brother and a lovely dark-haired woman. They were holding two squirming girls on their laps; they looked about five and six.

The photo wasn't perfect. One girl had her red party dress bunched up and wrinkled. The other was looking off to the left. Tommy's tie was crooked and his wife's hair was being played with by the daughter she was holding.

But to Grant, it was the most beautiful family photo he had ever seen.

It was obvious that they loved each other.

He opened the letter with trembling hands, wondering what lie inside.

_Dear Grant,_

_You don't know how long I've been wanting to write you this letter. For years, I'd put pen to paper and want to spill words across it, but they just wouldn't come. But, I couldn't put it off for one more year. _

_I forgive you. _

_For everything. Completely and utterly._

_Know that in forgiving you, I'm freeing myself as much as you. Probably more so. You are my brother. You will always be my brother. I wasn't blind to what they did to you. I saw it all. I saw when you tried to shield me from it. I saw when you failed to shield yourself. _

_What you did to me as a kid wasn't right, but I forgive you. I truly do._

_I know that you aren't that same frightened kid anymore, lashing out at the world, and neither am I. _

_I know we haven't talked in years. You don't know my wife, Marta, or my daughters, Sandra and Sofia. But, I'd like you to. We were thinking of heading out west when the girls are on spring break for school. I'd like us to spend Easter together. We could take the girls to Disneyland. They've never been._

_I heard you got married. Congratulations. Marriage is the biggest blessing one can have in their lives. To find the one person who loves and accepts you is the best gift of all. _

_Merry Christmas, Grant. I hope we'll get to celebrate Easter together. _

_Tommy_

_P.S. Marta and the girls made some homemade fudge for you both. They used Gramzy's recipe._

Grant read the letter at least three times, his smile widening each time.

"What'd you get?" Skye asked as she drew near, peering at the package.

"One of the best presents ever," Grant said. After a beat, he looked up at Skye. "Do you . . . do you believe in miracles?"

Skye sat down next to him, leaning her head on his shoulder. "We ended up together. Considering all we've been through, that counts as one in my book."

Grant smiled, pulling Skye closer. He placed his hands on either of her face, leaning his forehead against hers. "I'm not going to take this miracle for granted. I love you, Skye."

"I love you, too." And she leaned into him, kissing him, her arms around his neck.

After a moment, they parted. "Merry Christmas, Grant," Skye said.

"Merry Christmas, Skye. And thank you. For everything you've down to make this holiday special for us. I was letting my past cloud our present, our future. But, I've been given such a gift in you and I'm not going to do that anymore. Right now, we start new. Clean slates."

"I'd like that," Skye admitted.

"We start our own family. Our own traditions. We begin again."

"Our own family?" Skye asked with a cocked eyebrow. They had talked about having a baby someday, but Grant had always been vague and evasive about exactly when.

"Our own family," Grant replied firmly. "You're going to be an amazing mother. I can think of no greater joy in the world than starting a family with you."

Skye grabbed him enthusiastically and kissed him again. "Right back at you."

"Best Christmas ever," Grant said as he took his wife in his arms once again.

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><p><strong>Author's note<strong>- Hi, all! I meant this to a be a two hundred word ficlet Christmas present for skyeward-otp, but as you can see, it blossomed into something a bit bigger. I might write another SkyeWard story around Easter about Tommy and his family visiting, if there's enough interest in it.


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